11. Privileged Correspondence

I Wish I Was Your Brother

A/N: It's wonderful to be back writing this series. I certainly hope you'll continue to enjoy it. This is for everyone who asked about it while I took a little hiatus especially Mar98.

A/N: This is another chapter in the letters story arc. It continues after "RSVP" and "Written Instructions". If you haven't already done so, I would highly recommend you read both of those chapters to get the full context of this one.

A/N: None of the medical advice or information is based on fact and the meds are a figment of the author's imagination.

A/N: Much love and thanks to my beta Ericka Jane.

- ELEVEN -

Privileged Correspondence

Ironically, I learned the most profound truths about motherhood from two motherless boys, Sam and Dean Winchester.

Sam was a patient at my medical practice at Stanford and very early in our professional relationship we became good friends. Dean was a mysterious figure; Sam's big brother who he clearly adored, but apparently no longer spoke to.

From the little Sam had told me, Dean had been parent, brother, best friend and more. I didn't know what had caused the crippling strain of such a loving and nurturing relationship; but the impact of the malice was particularly debilitating to Sam. When he came to see me complaining about insomnia, I had tried to explain that illnesses of that nature were usually more psychological than physiological. He didn't necessarily accept my view and had opted to treat his condition with pharmaceuticals.

When two weeks on sleeping pills brought no real relief, he returned to my office seeking an alternative medication. That set off a course of events through which our lives became inextricably entwined.

"The Citroval didn't work?" I asked when Sam sat across from me looking bleary-eyed and a little agitated. He had chosen a bad day to pay me a visit but I did my best to put my personal issues aside and give him my full attention.

"No," he shook his head. "I got about five; maybe six hours sleep the first few nights I took it. Then I was back to about two hours on a good night. I was thinking maybe we need to up the dose or something."

I had suspected the medication would only provide temporary, if any relief, but I decided to tread lightly. When Sam had first told me about his difficulty resting, we had spoken at length about his childhood bedtime rituals. From what he had said, it was his big brother who'd always read to him at night, tucked him before he went to sleep and provided a place of refuge whenever he had nightmares. Sam told me he'd often suffered from various sleep disturbances while he was growing up and Dean had helped him get through a lot of long difficult nights.

I had listened intently while he had painted a picture of a sibling who sounded like the centre of his world and the source of his security. Then I'd felt a deep sense of disappointment when he'd told that he and his brother no longer spoke to each other.

My approach to medicine had always been to treat the whole person and not just the symptoms. So I immediately concluded that Sam's insomnia had more to do with his acrimonious separation from Dean than the stress of college life, which he was citing as the cause of his condition. In-keeping with my holistic approach, I'd told him to try mending fences with his brother. When he said he doubted that Dean would even take his call, I'd suggested that he write him a good, old fashioned, snail mail letter. Instead Sam had asked for prescription medication.

That day I'd written two prescriptions for him; one for the Citroval and one that gave him explicit instructions to write his brother. The fact that he was back in front of me, two weeks later, having gotten no satisfying results from the sleeping pills begged the question if he taken me up on my other recommendation.

As I contemplated how to broach the topic without seeming to invade his privacy, he cut to the chase.

"Yes, I wrote to Dean and that didn't help either."

"When did you write to him?"

"The same day you told me to do it. It was the most difficult thing I've ever written but I refused to fill the prescription until I got it done."

"And how did you feel once you'd done it?"

"Better, to be honest. Lighter."

"And?" I pressed. "Has there been any response."

"No," I could hear the disappointment in Sam's voice.

And the fact that his letter had gone unanswered could well have been the reason for Sam's continuing insomnia.

"But who knows? My brother moves around a lot so I mailed the letter to a good family friend, and I'm not even sure if he's seen it yet."

"O.K." I conceded. "So let's see what we can do about this medication."

"Yeah but first, you gotta tell me what's up with you?"

"Excuse me?" My eyes – and mind – had started to drift while he was talking but I quickly refocused on him.

"You don't look yourself at all, Dr. Shayne. You've seemed distracted from the moment I walked in here."

"I'm fine Sam," I waved my hand dismissively. "I think we're here to talk about you."

"No, you're not fine," he said gently. "And we always talk about me. You listen to me more than anyone ever has, except my brother. Now it looks like I need to repay the favour."

"Sam, that would not be appropriate." Again I tried, and failed, to sound as if I was perfectly fine, but lord knows I wasn't. And Sam, being such a sensitive soul, had easily detected the sense of dejection I was trying so hard to reign in.

"I know you play everything by the book Dr. Shayne but we don't only have a doctor/patient relationship; I like to think of us as friends."

"I'm your doctor first," I put in quickly.

"Sure. That's why you spend the first fifteen minutes of every appointment treating me and then the rest of the hour chatting about everything from Native American history to my latest sociology assignment."

"Sam," I gestured cautiously.

"Come on, Dr. Shayne. I owe you about a hundred hours of listening time. I've gotta repay you somehow."

Our eyes met and I knew instantly we were crossing another boundary. We'd silently negotiated a few in the months I had been treating him like when I first told him about my Native American heritage, and my belief in several aspects of alternative medicine. There had been another quiet crossing when he had told me about his relationship with his brother. As I'd listened to him, I got the feeling I was being given an insider's look at a part of Sam that he shared with very few people. And now, he was extending an offer that would require me to reveal a similarly private part of my life own life.

For reasons, I couldn't fully understand at the time, I took him up on it.

"You've caught me on a rough day," I finally admitted.

"How so?"

"Well, let's just say it's the day I accepted the fact that I'll never be a mother."

"Seriously?" Sam said softly.

"Seriously," I ran my hands over my face and looked down at my desk.

"Did you get some kind of test results or something?" I could hear the concern in Sam's voice and when I looked up it was reflected in his eyes.

"No results. I just decided to end my fertility treatment."

"But why? It sounds like you really want to be a mother."

"I've been trying for about four years now, Sam. I've been on a treatment regime for the last two. I can't continue like this. It's affecting my relationship my husband, it's wreaking havoc with my emotions, and ruining my entire sense of well-being. Everyone who cares about me has pretty much told me to stop but you know when you want something so badly you're just not prepared to listen to anyone."

"Yeah," Sam said emphatically closing his eyes and exhaling loudly. I knew without a doubt he must have had a similar experience.

"You see I've never failed at anything major before because I've always been prepared to do whatever it takes. So whether it was working my butt off to get into Harvard Med or practicing medicine and doing research to excel in both the professional and academic streams, I've never been afraid to do what I need to do to get what I want. I had my amazing, multi-facetted, medical career, my loving, supportive husband, who's got a pretty amazing medical career himself, and now what I really want is my family. But I'm over forty and I've miscarried twice. I've been to the best fertility experts money can buy, I think I've tried every existing treatment regime and nothing's worked. So now I think it's time to heed the advice everyone's been giving me. It's time to stop punishing my body, not to mention my spirit."

"I'm really sorry it hasn't worked out."

"Not nearly as sorry as I am, Sam."

"What about your husband, does he think you should stop trying?"

"He wanted to stop about six months ago. He said he couldn't stand to see what all of this was doing to me. But I felt like I had to keep going for both of us. I really wanted to make him a father. I wanted to have his child. And now, I feel like I've let him down so badly."

To voice the disappointment I'd kept hidden inside for so long was so overwhelming that I covered my face and looked away again. Then I actually admitted to Sam what I swore I'd never say aloud to another human being. "I can't believe I'm never going to have a child. I'll never be anyone's mother. I'll never get to love someone that unconditionally and unselfishly, and it just doesn't seem fair."

I couldn't cry in front of a patient, let alone an eighteen year old male patient.

I breathed deeply, reaching desperately for my dignity and trying hard to regain some semblance of composure.

Sam, reached across the desk and took both my hands in his, squeezing gently and reassuringly. "It's OK, Dr. Shayne," he said soothingly. "I know it must be hard."

Feeling the transfer of calming, positive energy, I sat there and maintained the contact even if it may have been considered professionally inappropriate. At that moment I wasn't an accomplished medical scholar and practitioner but an ordinary woman who'd had to admit that she was incapable of carrying out her most natural biological function. I needed to draw from the strength and support that Sam was transferring through his touch or I would fall apart completely.

After a few moments, I met his eyes and told him, without words, that I would be alright.

"Thank you," I whispered. "And that's not from your doctor, that's from your friend."

"Don't mention it," he released my hands slowly and held my gaze until he was sure I'd be alright.

"I'm fine," I said honestly.

"Then can I say something?"

"Of course."

"I'm really sorry you can't get pregnant Dr. Shayne but if you really want to be a mother, I don't think you should let that stop you."

"Are you talking about adoption?"

"I'm talking about life. Mothering isn't just about biology or about a legal relationship between an adult and a child; it's about loving unconditionally and unselfishly like you said. And so many people, young and old, need it so badly. I think you'll make an incredible mother to anyone you choose to love like that."

I knew Sam's mother had died when he was a baby and from what he'd told me there had been no female surrogate who had stood in the gap. I think this was another reason I'd taken an interest in him, as a childless woman my heart had gone out to this motherless boy.

"My husband started hinting about adoption a few months ago," I confided. "But I dismissed the argument immediately. To me, it meant an admission of failure."

"You think you'd be prepared to talk about it again now?"

"Maybe," I conceded. "He's in Asia for a month. Every year we go on a medical programme overseas to give health care to underserved communities. Only this time I didn't go because I didn't want the inoculations to affect my chances of getting pregnant. I think he's hoping I'll come to my senses by the time he gets back."

"There's so much good a couple like the two of you could do; the possibilities really are endless. It might be a lot to think about now because I know it's been a very disappointing day, but to be honest Dr. Shayne, I'm kinda excited for you. And I'm thrilled for any child who's lucky enough to have any kind of relationship with you."

"That means a lot to me."

I was surprised when he snickered uncharacteristically in response.

"What?" I asked.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said cautiously. "But if you were having this conversation with my brother he'd make sure that it ended with you laughing. He'd say something like "Adoption is a win/win; you'd get a baby and you get to keep your figure."

When I could only stare at Sam flabbergasted, he looked instantly apologetic. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even gone there. I never did have Dean's knack for a smooth delivery."

The very thought of what he'd said was so absurdly inappropriate that I suddenly found myself laughing.

"If this is the brother that raised you how did you turn out so politically correct?"

"Trust me; it's not that he didn't try."

I was silently grateful for Dean and the lightness he had been able to create in absentia. It provided a timely segue.

"Now, about your insomnia," I said with just enough authority to indicate that I taking back over the session. "Rather than increasing your dosage of Citroval I'd like you to try a new medication called Bensovan. It's part of what they're calling the new generation of sleep medications and it's powerful but gentle."

"Sure. I'll try it."

I wrote the prescription quickly knowing my next patient was probably outside giving my assistant dirty looks.

"Now you know the procedure, Sam. I have to monitor you closely while you're taking sleep meds. So please make an appointment to see in the next two weeks."

"Yes, Doc," he smiled." It was the first time he called me that but I figured given today's conversation, a more casual, familiar moniker was probably in order. "And the medication should be taken half hour before bedtime, when I can get at least eight hours sleep and it should not be consumed with alcohol. I know the drill."

"Good," I tore the prescription from the pad and handed it over. "Get some rest."

"Thanks."

When he opened the door, I called out before I could stop myself. "Will you let me know if you hear from Dean?"

As soon as the words were spoken, I wondered if I had crossed another line.

"I will, Doc." Sam said sincerely.

Apparently I hadn't.

Sam was smiling when he left my office so I was horrified to get a call that weekend saying he had collapsed.

His roommate phoned me from the college hospital hysterical to the point of incoherence and I had just jumped in my car and drove like a mad woman.

"What happened?" I asked the agitated young man when he met me at the hospital entrance.

"I don't know, man," he said still clearly rattled by the morning's occurrence. "I came back from my shower and found him passed out on the floor. He'd left before I did saying he was going to get the mail and then when I got back to the room to get ready for work, I found him. I called 911. I couldn't find any emergency contacts in his cell phone so I went through his wallet and saw an appointment card with your number on it, and I called you. I guess, I was kinda just freaking out and calling his doctor seemed like a smart thing to do, I don't know."

"It's fine," I put a calming hand on his shoulder. "Has anyone said anything to you? Do you know what's wrong?"

"No. I just drove behind the ambulance because I didn't want him to be alone but I gotta get to work. If I'm late again, they'll can me even if my roommate passing out seems like a good excuse."

"That's fine. You get going. I'll speak to the doctor and see what's going on and I'll try to get in touch with Sam's family."

"Thanks, Doctor," the young man, whose name I never did get seemed quite relieved to pass the mantel of responsibility. He handed over Sam's cell phone and his wallet, which I shoved into my purse, and then he quickly departed.

I hurried into the hospital praying that Sam was alright. I was still battling the emotional distress of my infertility and knew I couldn't handle seeing any kind of serious harm come to this young man, who I was beginning to care about deeply. Before I approached the nurse's station I stopped and said a brief prayer asking God to protect Sam and bring him through whatever had befallen him with his mind, body, and spirit intact.

Faithful and composed, I went to enquire about Sam's condition. I knew many of the medical professionals at the hospital and thankfully the physician in charge, Dr. Winbecker, was a reasonably close associate.

"Sam Winchester is my patient," I told him. "I just saw him this week and he was fine. What's going on?"

"Did you prescribe the Bensovan?"

"Yes, I did. He's been having chronic insomnia for several weeks. I had him on Citroval but it wasn't working and his condition was getting worse."

"He's had a severe reaction to the Bensovan, but we got it in time. He's going to be alright."

"Can I see him?"

"He's in his room but we've given him a pretty high dose of antihistamines I think he should be out cold by now."

"I still need to see him."

"Sure," Dr. Winbecker gestured to the Nurses' Station with his head. "The ladies will tell you where."

"We need to contact his next of kin," the nurse who led me to Sam's room said. "Can you help us with that, Dr. Shayne?"

"I'll see what I can do," I pledged, although I didn't have the first clue how I could reach Sam's mysterious family.

"And we have his personal effects labelled and stored to return to him," the Nurse informed me as she came to a stop outside room 121.

"I'll come and get them later."

"Thank you," she said giving me a brief pat on the shoulder before walking away.

I took a deep breath and then pushed the door open and went straight to Sam's bedside. I leaned over the railing of the surgical bed and barely stopped myself from pushing his long, feathered bangs away from his face. I reminded myself that we were in a hospital and as his physician I needed to maintain professional conduct. But everything inside me wanted to reach out and offer a comforting touch. I couldn't bear to think of Sam frighten, hurting, and alone. He may have been the size of a hulk but he was still a teenager, on his own for the first time in his life.

My heart almost stopped when his eyes fluttered open. He looked at me sleepily like he was struggling to focus.

"Dr. Shayne?" he asked weakly.

"I'm right here Sam," I said softly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Your roommate called me. I came as soon as I heard you weren't well but I've spoken to the doctor who treated you, and you're going to be fine."

"No I'm not," Sam mumbled. "I feel awful Doc."

"That's because they've given you a strong dose of antihistamines which is heavily sedating. You're going to be alright Sam."

"Doc my head feels so heavy," Sam sounded so childlike it was disconcerting. "I don't have the energy to keep fighting."

"You need to rest Sam. Just close your eyes and sleep."

"I can't. I don't know what will happen to me and I haven't read it yet."

"Read what?"

"My letter from Dean."

It was foolish for my heart to start racing in my chest.

"He wrote to you?"

"Yeah. I'd just picked up my mail and I got a letter from him. I brought it back to my room to read it and then I woke up here. Dr. Shayne you've got to get my letter for me."

"Sam, you need to get some sleep."

"No," he set his mouth in a stubborn line. "If I go to sleep, I don't know what will happen. I can't Doc, not until I've heard from Dean."

He wanted his brother, I realised. With that much medication in his system it most likely felt that death and not sleep was overpowering him. He was frightened and vulnerable and he wanted his big brother.

I could give him that much. It may not have been appropriate for me to comfort him physically but at least I could give him Dean.

"Can you remember what you did with the letter?"

"It was in my jacket."

"O.K," I said calmly. "So it must be with your personal effects. I'll get it for you."

I said another quick prayer that nothing had happened to displace the letter between when Sam fainted and his eventual arrival at the hospital. I paused to thank God again when I found the envelope with Sam's name and address scrawled on it, safely in the interior pocket of his jacket.

"I have it right here," I announced waving the letter triumphantly as I re-entered Sam's room. Stubbornly, he was still awake, fighting the sedation until the only part of Dean he could currently lay claim to was close by. "I'm going to leave it right here on your bedside table and as soon as you wake up and you're feeling better, you can read it."

"No," he objected obstinately. "I want you to read it to me before I fall asleep."

He was tired, overwhelmed and not thinking straight, which is the only reason why he would have even suggested that I read his private letter.

"Sam," I said gently. "I know you feel like you're dying but you're not. It's just the medication. You'll have the best rest you've had in months and then you'll feel better when you wake up and you can read your letter from Dean."

"Doc, please," he looked at me so beseechingly that my heart melted.

"Sam, this is privileged correspondence between you and your brother. I can't read something so deeply personal."

"I need my big brother Doc. And this is only way I can think of."

What was left of my feeble resistance literally melted away and I opened the envelope. I swallowed hard knowing I was going to cross the ultimate boundary and get an unfettered look at the bond Sam and his brother shared.

"Dear Sammy,"I began.

"He called me Sammy," Sam whispered. "That means he's not mad at me anymore. If he was still angry, he would have called me Sam."

He may have been in the grips of sedation, but Sam sounded as delighted as a ten-year-old. After several days in my personal emotional doldrums the joyful sound of his voice was elating.

Encouraged, I read on: "I swear the only person on the planet who can get me to do something this lame is you. Yes, little brother, I got your letter. And as loathed as I am to admit it, when I read it, I knew I'd have to reply."

I had to snicker at the good-natured sarcasm and when I glanced at Sam, he was grinning too. "I told you it was a good idea to write him," I said, reaching out to pull his ear playfully. "You see now why you should always follow your doctor's orders?"

Happy that the letter was lifting his spirits, I read some more: "You probably won't remember, but the year I turned fourteen - when we spent most of the summer at Bobby's - my summer fling, Cindy Newton, accused me of breaking her heart when we had to hit the road again. I thought she was kinda silly to have put herself in a position where I could have done that in the first place and so deep down, I wasn't particularly sympathetic.

Well, the day you left for Stanford without saying goodbye, I think Cindy Newton was somewhere saying "vengeance is mine." And me, I was left with the realisation that a broken heart doesn't necessarily have to do with anything romantic. It's when someone you figure you can't live without essentially says they can do just fine without you.

I thought that was what you were saying when you went away. And you know me, I can deal with practically anything, but I found I just couldn't handle that.

When I accepted that you were really gone, I knew I was gonna miss you like hell. But nothing prepared me for how empty I felt being without my annoying, pain in the butt, geek brother."

"You've always bugged the hell out of me but it's just been so hard not having you around. I keep expecting you to come through the door and start talking to me about some useless historical information you've discovered, or some boring book you're reading. I keep expecting to get one of your silly 'just because' text messages. The kind that always made me roll my eyes but to be honest, kinda made me happy, too. The kind that say nothing but say everything.

As pathetic as it sounds, it's those girlie, nerdy things you used to do that always reminded me that I wasn't alone in this messed up world. Without saying a word you constantly found a way to tell me that no matter how bad things got, I'd always have my little brother and somehow Sam, you were always enough."

"You were enough to get me through the times when I missed Mom or when I was worried about Dad. Or when Dad was mad at me, or worse, disappointed with something I did or didn't do."

"When you were little you'd crawl into my lap, reach for my hand, or lift your arms for me to pick you up and no matter what was happening, I'd instantly feel better. Then when you got older you'd always want to talk and you'd need me to listen, and being there for you reminded me why I was here in the first place. And sometimes, it was when you didn't say a thing. You'd just sit beside me or ride shotgun with me and you'd seem happy to just be there, and that always made me feel special.

"I'm sorry," Sam cut in again. He closed his eyes as if he was trying to process his brother's words. "I just need a minute Doc."

I reached down and took his hand. He laced his fingers through mine, needing to draw something from me this time. I squeezed his hand hard returning the love and reassurance he had given to me when I'd needed it so desperately.

Professional appropriateness be damned. If fate had put me at Sam's bedside when he needed someone to comfort him I wasn't going to stand here and caved under the fear of being cited for unprofessional conduct.

"It's O.K," I soothed and then resumed my reading when he opened his eyes and nodded for me to continue.

"And trust me as soon as I got over being mad as hell with you for leaving, I really planned to be proud of you for having the courage to strike out on your own. I'm sorry that I never got a chance to congratulate you for being brilliant enough to get the taxpayers to foot the bill for your high priced college education. And the next time I see you, I have to buy you a drink, but that's after I kick your butt for being pigheaded, stubborn, and infuriating enough to actually get up and go.

"I'm also gonna kick your butt for making me cry when I read your letter. And I'll kick it again if you ever repeat that to anyone living or dead.

On top of that, I'm gonna beat the crap out of you because everything you wrote made me feel like a damn hypocrite. Sure I raised you to be independent but that really didn't mean that you were actually supposed to be able to live without your big brother. I'm happy that you think I helped you to find the courage to go after what you want, but it killed me to have to let you go. And of course, like the awesome big brother I am, I taught you how to be a man, but I wasn't prepared for you to grow up so fast.

The thing is, everything about the way you left for Stanford just said you didn't need me anymore. It was easier to be mad as hell at you for that rather than admit that it hurt me so much, I wanted to cry like a kid who had been by-passed by Santa on Christmas Day.

I stopped to glance up at Sam. His eyes were closed again and silent tears were streaming down his face. I leaned over and gently wiped them away only to realise that my own eyes had filled up and were flowing over. I ran the back of my hand across my face and then turned my attention back to the letter.

And call me selfish but your letter, which essentially said in so many ways you're still a freaking baby, was kinda heart-warming to read. I guess it's good to know I'm not the only one suffering from this stupid separation anxiety.

I'm really grateful for all you said in your letter but don't think that because I'm the big brother, I haven't learned a few things from you too.

Sam, because of you I know that it's possible to love someone more than your own life, and when it's reciprocal it's something that can get you through the worse times.

You taught me that hugs aren't bad, in fact, when you get over feeling awkward for acting like a ten year old girl, they're OK. Talking is OK too. But what's really special is realising that there's someone who will listen no matter where the hell you are, or what time of day it is when the words decide to come pouring out in spite of all you've done to hold them back. You're that someone for me.

You've also helped me to see that trust is rare and priceless and so are the people who earn it. And when you find someone you trust with your life, you don't think twice about doing anything for them. And on that note, in case you didn't know, let me tell you that there really isn't anything that I wouldn't do for you, Sammy."

Now I was the one who needed a minute. I had to swallow down the sobs that were rising in my throat and quell the tide of emotion that was sweeping over me. In my life I'd been fortunate to feel passionate, unconditional love. I'd felt it for my family, my husband and even my calling. But to see a love this pure and unrelenting was as overwhelming as it was euphoric.

I didn't think I would be able to read anymore without breaking down. But I realised that Sam was depending on me and I steeled myself to get through the final sentences.

"And one last thing – because this really is going on too long – most kids that go off to college know they always have a home to go back to. Don't feel for one minute that you're any different. I'll always be here for you, so if you ever feel 'homesick' just pick up the phone and give me a call. And if you need something, and I mean anything, don't even think twice about asking.

I know you don't have a picket fence or even a fixed address but you do have a big brother who loves you more than anything, and that's something you can always go back to any time you like. So call me whenever you wanna come home.

Love,

Dean."

I released Sam's hand so I could fold the letter and put it on the night stand. Then I looked down at him, not sure what to do or say now.

Sam was overcome and sobbing openly at his brother's heartfelt declarations. "See what I mean Doc," he said tearfully, straining valiantly against the pull of sedation. "You don't have to give birth to someone to mother them. You just have to love them with all you've got."

I abandoned all attempts to save face and maintain even a modicum of my professional composure. I leaned over and laid my head on Sam's chest and let the flood of tears flow out of me. Weakly Sam brought his hand up and stroked my hair gently.

"It's going to be OK," he assured me gently. "You're going to be the best mother to whoever you choose to love."

We stayed like that for a several moments while I wept with abandon and Sam cried too. Sam may have lost his mother at an early age but he certainly hadn't missed out on being mothered. His big brother who had neither conceived nor given birth had been the most loving and devoted mother Sam could ever have wanted. This mystifying Dean, who I'd never met and may never know, was showing me that motherhood was so much more than biology. You could choose to be someone's mother just by loving and supporting them and being there for them no matter what.

I put my arms around Sam's limp body and squeezed him tight until we both stopped crying. Then I gently pulled away from him and leaned forward to caress his cheek and run my hands through his hair.

"Go to sleep now Sam," I said gently, feeling a rush of affection for this gentle giant with such a childlike heart. "Everything's fine. In every way that matters your brother's right here with you and so am I."

Finally, he closed his eyes and turned his head into the pillow. "Night doc," he said lazily, although it was broad daylight.

"Goodnight Sam."

I stood at his bedside until I was sure he was deep in sleep and then I pulled up a chair, determined to be there when he woke up. As I listened to his even breathing I was reminded of one of my Grandfather's favourite sayings, "There is no coincidence, only fate".

There had to be a reason why I was here with Sam at such a significant moment. There had to be a reason why he took me into his confidence and allowed me to see, what I suspect he revealed to very few people; the unbelievable love and devotion he had for his brother and the unrelenting force with which it was reciprocated. Just the thought of it had tears streaming down my face again.

I dug in my hand bag for a tissue to dry my eyes and that's when I saw Sam's cell phone.

I grasped the sleek device and flipped it open, found the contact list and scrolled down to D.

There had to be a reason why I had been drawn into the circle of these two brothers.

And it was clear to me now.

I selected Dean's cell number and pressed the button to dial.

TO BE CONTINUED

There's definitely more to come. Watch this space.